Do you like to read? Have you ever stayed up waaaayyy to late reading? Then this is the spot for you. This is the spot for the eclectic book reader. I love all kinds of books, in any format. I can't wait to share my love of books with you.

Seth Bauman has issues. His Mom split ten years ago, right after his birth, and
guardian Uncle Troy won't discuss the past. Seth's only friend is Mexican
immigrant Elena, whom he must walk home from school through Silverlake's
gang-ravaged streets. When Elena is abducted by local gang 'the Mayans,' Seth
has no choice but to follow the Boatman of the L.A. River into the sprawling
network of sewers and metro tunnels concealing Mayan headquarters. To Seth the
great labyrinth unfolds as a magical realm called 'the Interior,' whose
residents immediately deem him the 'Nameless Prince' of prophecy, sent to save
them from peril.

To find Elena, Seth embarks on an odyssey of riddles and
self-discovery. Only in 'Interia' is it safe to discover the truth about his
past, and the forgiveness that will set him free. In rescuing Elena he rescues
his own innocence. In fulfilling prophecy by learning his name, Seth discovers
the greatness that lies within.

About the
Author:

Dominick
Domingo is a veteran Animation Artist (Lion King, Pocahontas, Hunchback,
Tarzan, Fantasia.) who's illustrated YA books for Penguin, Random
House, Lowell House, Disney Publishing, Hyperion Books, and Harcourt.
Developing original screenplays as a filmmaker led to a growing writing resume.
To capitalize on it, Dominick recently penned a collection of Narrative
Nonfiction essays titled "Jesus Shoes," two of which have been included
in anthologies. One of the essays, 'L'Epiphanie,' was awarded the 2011 Solas
award in the humor category for 'Best Travel Writing.' The Nameless Prince
represents Dominick's foray into Young Adult urban fantasy. He'd be happy to
retire as a full-time author. He lives in the Silver Lake neighborhood of L.A.,
surrounded by hipsters.

Seth Bauman scribbled, as fast and furious as his ten year old hands
would scribble. The coarse stucco of the exterior wall at Allesandro Elementary
School quickly wore his pencil down to a nub. He pulled another from his
backpack; there was a job to be done. Several yards away, tongue lodged firmly
in the corner of her mouth, Elena Gomez worked with equal fervor. The two
glanced at one another periodically, as if to check the other's progress. But
more importantly, the look was one of camaraderie— of two souls who shared a
most vital mission. And though she spoke almost no English, Elena's dark
almond-shaped eyes were full of urgency. Suddenly they grew even wider.

"They come," she warned, having heard something in the
adjacent corridor.

Seth did not panic. There were only a few left, and he was not about to
leave the job undone. Each and every declaration of ‘Seth + Elena' had to be
obliterated. And with all the divots and grooves in the stucco, it was
important to grind the lead with great force, lest the original statement
remain legible. It wasn't that the two didn't like one another. It
wasn't even that liking a girl was still considered ‘icky;' that having a
girlfriend was instant social suicide in the sixth grade. His objection was in
principle. It simply wasn't true. Their pact to correct the facts was nothing
more than ‘revisionist history.'

They'd waited until class had let out. The majority of their classmates
had been picked up by their parents or headed off on foot, bicycle or
skateboard. The few who remained for afterschool sports were quite a distance
away, and if anything served as a nice distraction from their own covert
activities. It had always been a mystery just how late the teachers stayed, or
the staff in the principal's office. But if theirs were like most adult jobs,
they were surely stuck at their desks until well after sundown. Luckily the
wall where most of the heart-shaped graffiti had appeared was out of view of
the windows in the main building. The twenty-or-so love declarations, in
varying shapes and sizes, floated above the three-spigoted drinking fountain
where one could choose ‘Coffee, Tea, Soda-Pop or Pee.' The only window in the
vicinity looked out from the cafeteria, and surely the cafeteria staff had gone
home for the day, unless they were concocting a new-and-improved recipe for
‘Barf on a Bun' or Pizza Surprise.

As it turned out, this assumption was wrong. Seconds after Elena issued
her anxious warning, the double doors flew open, and an enraged presence burst
onto the playground.

"What on Earth are you kids doing?" The Cafeteria Lady, a
stern, matronly figure, charged toward them across the hot asphalt.

For a split second, Seth considered running. The Cafeteria Lady had no real
authority. He was not fooled by the clear plastic gloves or the hair net;
she was just someone's mother. Still, something compelled Seth to stay and face
the music, rather than putting off the inevitable and having to face her in the
lunch line the following day. In a split second, the Cafeteria Lady had them
both by the ear.

"Allesandro Elementary," a receptionist sang as one call
after another came in to the Principal's office. Seth and Elena sat in silence,
legs dangling from the hard mahogany bench that was meant to be torture,
awaiting their real punishment. The offices were busier than Seth had
imagined— heels clicked on linoleum tile as the staff finished up their
business for the day. Papers were shuffled, time clocks punched. Some distance
away, Mrs. Calloway, a counselor, and school nurse Miss Schoichet, were
casually leaning in the doorway to a small office. Mrs. Calloway was plump,
with a large magenta bouffant that teetered when she spoke, like a scoop of
strawberry ice cream threatening to plunge from its cone.

"From what I understand, her family arrived no more than a month
ago," Mrs. Calloway was saying in a low whisper. "She's legal."

"Ah," Nurse Schoichet replied.

Nurse Schoichet was more conservative than Mrs. Calloway, with a
chestnut pageboy and a smart, tailored pant suit. Her eyes darted in Elena's
direction.

"So they're legal. Let me guess— they have family here?"

"Mmmmmmm-hmmmm…" Mrs. Calloway nodded emphatically. "It
seems they were living with relatives for the first three weeks, but wanted to
have their own place before the school year began."

Seth knew that was often the way. The Silver Lake neighborhood of L.A.
was ethnically diverse. Every nationality. Every creed. But there was no
denying it, the majority of the population were Latino. At Allesandro
Elementary, eight of ten students had names like Hernandez, Lopez or Giminez.
Like Elena's family, many of Seth's classmates had immigrated to the United
States, first by living with relatives in Silver Lake. The fact that Hispanic
was the norm, however, did not stop some in the community from exhibiting
prejudice.

Seth pictured them perched on a vine in the Amazon jungle, clucking
away like exotic birds. Mrs. Calloway's bouffant was suddenly the colorful
crest of an oversized parrot. Seth often saw people as animals, with horns, or
hooves, or worse.

Seth's own last name was Bauman, but for some reason his teachers still
asked if his family spoke Spanish at home. Though Seth considered himself as
average-looking and homogenous as the next guy, something about his look must
have been exotic. Ethnically ambiguous. He was olive-skinned, with hazel
eyes and a tousled mop of auburn hair that the girls seemed to like. Though his
skin was medium in tone, his cheeks and nose were peppered with light freckles.
He hated them. But again, the girls had no objections. Even his
shorter-than-average stature and the narrow space between his two front teeth
seemed to be assets. But any attention he received was a source of discomfort.
Seth preferred to be left alone; it was much easier that way.

He looked over at Elena, her tiny legs dangling several feet from the
floor. She looked like Alice in Wonderland awaiting the guillotine. Suddenly
Seth felt responsible for getting Elena involved in the operation in the first
place. She knew what the hearts meant. There were surely similar traditions in
Mexico. But if he hadn't coerced her, maybe she would have let them remain,
lived with them until the school painted over them. Seth didn't know why the
truth was so important to him- it just was. Sure, the taunts were
mean-spirited. But beyond the meanness of the gesture, it was the principle
that bothered Seth. He had always insisted on truthfulness, even with adults.
And speaking up had often gotten him in trouble. Seth didn't know exactly who
had scrawled their names on the wall in the first place, but he had an idea. The
perpetrator had not acted alone— he'd recruited accomplices, judging by the
variety of writing styles.

"I don't know why they think we like each other," he
whispered after an eternity of silence.

Elena turned, and a covert smile appeared on her face. But quickly her
expression reverted to one of anxiety. She was in a new country. Everything was
different. For all she knew, she was going to land in jail.

"It's not my fault I was given the job of walking you home every
day. My Uncle Troy and your mom came up with that. It wasn't my idea…"

Elena said nothing, her eyes returning to the two women several yards
away, who were now clucking, chirping, screeching wildly. One of them had told
an off-color joke.

"It's not like you're going to get lost on the way home or
anything." Seth continued. "For Pete's sake, we live three blocks
away from here…"

Inside, Seth knew that Elena getting lost was not their concern. It was
the unfamiliarity of it all. At least he knew all the rules. Do notaccept
candy from a stranger. Do not accept rides from strangers. During the
three-block journey, other than the cars zipping past on Glendale Avenue, he'd
never once encountered a stranger. Only local gang-bangers. Oh, and the
homeless man who parked himself at the foot of the Glendale Avenue Bridge. The
homeless man was anything but a stranger. Strange no doubt, but as
familiar as each crack in the sidewalk, which Seth had memorized.

When he said as much, Elena looked at him quizzically.

"You don't understand a word I'm saying, do you?"

Elena still said nothing. Her eyes were downcast, but even so they were
wide, bordered by thick, dark lashes. Her hair was equally thick, bangs trimmed
squarely above the brow. In the back it fell just beyond her collar, neatly
blunted in an old-fashioned pageboy. Everything about her seemed antiquated to
Seth— the knee-length white dress with its ornate appliqué around the collar,
the white stockings that came up to the knee. She was the embodiment of
innocence. Despite his insistence on the truth, Seth didn't feel so innocent.
And maybe that was why protecting her was so important.

Abruptly, Elena's eyes shot back to the floor as a shadow slipped over
her.

Principal Sellars stood before them, arms behind his back. Large and
pear shaped with a gray moustache, he'd always reminded Seth of a walrus
somehow. A walrus in a tweed suit. His patent leather dress shoes tapped the
linoleum tile menacingly. Their sentence was about to be handed down. And the
man's body language did not bode well.

For a moment the man said nothing. Just looked down at them, watching
them squirm on that hard bench. And then, ever so slowly, enjoying his
authority, the principal released his arms. A smile crept across his pudgy,
pink face as he revealed what he held in each fist— an industrial-sized house
painting brush.

For an hour, he stood over the two with similar glee as they retouched
the cafeteria wall. To prolong the punishment, he had first allowed them to
attempt removing the graphite with bathroom soap and scrub-brushes. When that
didn't work, the paint brushes were put to use. The sun was just beginning to
dip behind the Santa Monica Mountains as Seth and Elena closed the lid to the
latex house paint.

"Good job!" Principal Sellars smiled, his walrus whiskers
pointing skyward. "I think you two have a new career option!" Though
his appraisal was surely mockery, the man did appear to be genuinely impressed.

Seconds later he was calling after them, having released them to go
home. "Remember, it's called defacing public property. You scribble on a
wall today, and you're arrested for tagging tomorrow! Y'all don't want to go
down that road, do you?"

The walk home was spent in silence, dusk falling all around. A charge
of silvery violet infused the urban sky, lending it a twinkling ambience that
somehow added to the anxiety.

"My uncle's gonna kill me," Seth said at last, under his
breath.

Elena looked at him, struggling to keep up. The words escaped her, but
she understood the sentiment.

Though the walk home was a mere three blocks, they were long ones. The
bulk of the journey was spent scaling Glendale Avenue Bridge, a monumental
structure spanning the L.A. Wash. Once upon a time it had been a natural river.
Now the wash was nothing more than a concrete channel directing foul waters
alongside the Ventura Freeway before dumping them into the ocean. During rainy
season, it could rage like a real river, but most of the time it was little
more than slick concrete with a mere trickle of still, slow-moving water down
the center. Musty and stagnant, the channel was flanked by patches of graffiti,
as far as the eye could see in either direction.

Today the water was moving more than normal. The school year had begun
several weeks earlier, in mid-September. There had been an inordinate amount of
rain in the mountains surrounding L.A., so the river had swelled to a healthy
size, enough to split into several tributaries punctuated by clumps of
shrubbery and piled-up rock. From the bridge, one island stood out from the
rest. Seth had often noticed its silhouette peeking out from among the others,
an oasis in urban chaos.

His body involuntarily slowed as they reached the apex of the bridge,
and a familiar force compelled him toward the great stone railing. Below, the
trees were flecked with autumn colors, which twinkled in the warmth of sunset.
A shaft of crimson light, the last sliver that remained, raked between the
distant mountains, touching the uppermost branches of the majestic trees at the
island's center. It wasn't the first time Seth had been mesmerized by its
mystery; he often wondered who or what might be living in the tiny,
concentrated forest. Maybe he had been reading too many fantasy books, but he
was sure the island was its own magical kingdom.

Elena never objected when he perched himself at the railing for a
moment or two— she had noticed his fixation early on. Scaling the bridge was
treacherous, and even more so when hefting a backpack full of text books and
Pee-Chee folders. So the brief respite at the apex of the bridge was normally
welcome. But today there was no time to be idle. Detention had eaten up several
hours; if the school had called Elena's home there would have been a language
barrier. And Uncle Troy did not have a land line— he was a cell phone guy. He
would have no idea of Seth's whereabouts. And boy could he have a temper.

Moments later, Elena waved goodbye as she turned down the walkway to her
tiny cottage, half a block from Seth's. Mrs. Gomez, a tiny woman with just a
touch of silver in her hair, waved from behind the screen door.

Seth waved back.

He turned toward home, the sound of crunching leaves punctuating his
step. For some reason Seth looked back, in time to see Mrs. Gomez opening the
door for her daughter. She kissed the girl's forehead, wiped the bangs from her
eyes. Okay, maybe Elena was cute. In an innocent sort of way. But Seth
most definitely, without a doubt, did not like her. He tolerated her.
Okay, maybe he liked her a little bit, but only as a friend. He didn't like
her like her. Not in that way.

Seth continued on, closing the half-block gap between Elena's home and
his own. Without Elena to divert him, anxiety set in. His heart involuntarily
raced as he neared the small Victorian cottage he shared with his uncle. His
dread always kicked in about this distance from the porch, not knowing from one
day to the next what he would find. But he was rarely this apprehensive.
His palms were even sweating. He cursed each maple leaf that crunched beneath
his feet, threatening to announce his arrival. If he could make it to his room
unnoticed, he could claim to have been there all along. Maybe Uncle Troy would
be embroiled in a game of Warcraft, or out back in his makeshift office.
Maybe he hadn't noticed Seth's absence at all.

Seth stepped gingerly onto the splintery porch. The crickets were just
starting their symphony, but it was not enough to drown out the long,
pronounced groan of dilapidated wood. With excruciating caution, Seth eased the
front door open. Slowly. Steadily. Even so, its rusted antique hinges creaked
irritably.

Luckily, the sound of explosions and raining flack reverberated inside
the vertical, two story home. Bluish television light danced on papered walls. Gears
of War. Whew. Uncle Troy was occupied.

Seth eyed the steep, carpeted staircase that led to the second story,
and the safe haven of his bedroom. He tiptoed across the exposed hardwood of
the foyer, and into the plush, sound-absorbing carpet of the staircase. The
first step groaned, signaling his presence. Shit. The second step was
even louder.

In a split second, Uncle Troy had rounded the banister from the living
room and pinned Seth to the wall.

"Where the hell have you been, punk?" Uncle Troy was inches
from his face, smelling of sweat and homegrown marijuana.

"I had detention," Seth answered, looking to his feet, which
dangled a foot from the floor. Uncle Troy's reaction was worse than he'd
anticipated.

Peripherally, Seth could see Cheryll on the couch. It was always
embarrassing when Uncle Troy acted like this in front of his girlfriend. But
she had lived with them as long as Seth could remember, so it was bound to
happen.

"What the hell you get into trouble for this time?!" Uncle
Troy demanded.

Seth sifted through various responses in his head. It didn't really
matter how he answered. There was no logic to Uncle Troy's parenting anyway.
Sometimes he felt like he had a better sense of right and wrong than his uncle,
despite being the child. So he said nothing.

"Answer me, PUNK!" Troy shook the boy so that the pictures
rattled on the wall.

Cheryll normally just watched without intervening. This time, due to
Troy's sheer force, she stood from the leather couch.

"Troy…Go easy…" she said softly, advancing across the room.

Uncle Troy shot her a look that stopped her dead in her tracks.

"Stay out o' this. The boy's gotta learn…" He always called
Seth ‘the boy.' When referring to him in the third person, anyway. When
addressing him directly, it was more often ‘punk.'

"Boy's lucky I took him in. Lucky he ain't out on the street
somewhere, or selling Chicklets in Tijuana. He's lucky he ain't lost in the
goddamn foster care system. An' he knows that." Uncle Troy had been
calling to Cheryll over his shoulder, eyes wide and maniacal. But now he turned
them on Seth and moved in even closer, so that their noses touched.

"And you know what?" Seth could see the sweat dripping from
Troy's forehead. "It ain't never too late."

The man had been stewing for hours, probably the whole time Seth and
Elena were painting the wall. He'd been ready for a fight. Seth concentrated on
the vein that bulged from his uncle's brow. His breathing relaxed. He pictured
the pupils of the man's eyes as reptilian slits, imagined a great mantle of
horns sprouting from his skull.

"It ain't never too late…" the monster hissed through bared
teeth.

Just then, the porch creaked and someone rapped on the door. It was a
familiar knock, like a code.

"You stay out of trouble, punk!" Troy spat his final warning,
letting Seth slide to the floor. He turned to the door.

Quickly Cheryll took Seth by the shoulders, guided him to the couch.
His heart was racing again, but not out of fear. It was rage that surfaced in
him now. He always felt powerless in the face of his uncle's wrath. It was
completely irrational. And now, on top of everything else, he had to
endure Cheryll's placating gestures. When all he wanted to do was crawl into a
shell and disappear.

"C'mon, Seth. Play me some of Gears of War. We were just
getting started. But your uncle's clients are here; he's got work to do."
She handed Seth the console as Troy opened the door.

Seth had recognized the knock; it was either Carlos or one of his
homies. Carlos was a local gang leader— the badass kingpin of LAMO— the L.A.
Mayan Order. The drill was always the same. He would shake hands with Troy, a
complex ritual that took up to thirty seconds. Then he would look around
nervously and slip inside while his homie stood watch on the porch. When the
two men disappeared into Uncle Troy's office, which was really just the
converted garage, the front door was always left open a crack. The homie could
be seen pacing the rickety porch, whistling while looking out over the satellite
dishes and smog, while Troy and Carlos conducted their business.

This time the homey was someone Seth did not recognize, a lanky
individual covered in multi-colored tattoos, who reminded Seth of a rat. As
Carlos neared the couch, Seth lowered his eyes, allowing him to pass. But he
could feel Carlos's eyes burning a hole in his head.

She always tried to distract him while Troy conducted his business, but
Seth was no idiot. The ‘client' would always leave while still rolling up a
plastic sandwich bag, which was then tucked in a low-riding waistband at the
last moment before exiting.

Seth didn't really like interactive video games. Troy and Cheryll would
spend hours on that couch, killing zombies or exploding enemy tanks. But Seth
lost interest quickly, would most often rather be reading or drawing in his
room. Today was no different. Cheryll looked after him, mystified in her
attempts as he wandered off, climbed the stairs to his tiny room, and shut the
door.

Seth plopped onto the mattress belly-down— his default drawing
position. He grabbed his sketchbook from beneath the antique twin bed. Drawing
kept him sane. And the books he read provided entire worlds just waiting to be
drawn, to be coaxed from the imagination and on to the paper, borne for the
first time in the material world. Dragons. Elves. Dwarves. Seth loved giving
them life— he was God and they were as yet unborn souls. But today, the image
that rendered itself on the page, slowly taking shape on the empty white void
as if being chiseled from an invisible chunk of granite, did not come from one
of his books. It was an island. A magical island with glistening trees. In
pencil, the crimson light did not sparkle quite as much as it could have, but
those with imagination would recognize its otherworldly aura. And towering over
the highest treetop, the fangs of a gaping, cavernous portal. It was a freeway
overpass, but also a dragon. Seth was not sure why he drew it this way. It just
made intuitive sense.

The drawing came out of him fast. Sometimes this happened when he
wasn't thinking too much. And these were always the drawings he liked the best.
The ones he could look at later without shame. Not that he ever showed them to
anyone anyway. At school the other kids were always impressed when he drew
something for an assignment. But this was his personal work, and he did it for
himself.

Once, Cheryll had found his sketchbook when it fell out of his backpack
unnoticed. She'd shown it to Uncle Troy, but he didn't say too much. She'd
knocked gently on the door to Seth's room. When he invited her in, she'd sat on
the edge of the bed and handed the sketchbook to him with a gentle smile. But
there was something else in her eyes. Respect.

Cheryll was nice enough. She was pretty, with long auburn hair and a
pleasant smile. She wore the right amount of makeup, just enough to bring out
her green eyes, but not enough to cover the freckles that made her seem
youthful somehow. In fact, she was twenty-seven. Seth wished he could better
accept her attempts at being nice. She really did try to be a mother figure to
him. But it wasn't the same, knowing his real mother was out there somewhere.
Cheryll was Uncle Troy's ‘common-law wife,' he had heard someone say. Seth
didn't know what that meant, but he knew it did not make her his mother.

Seth flipped to the last page in his sketchbook. Some time back, he had
skipped to the final page for some reason, dedicated it to what would turn out
to be his best, most lifelike portrait to date. He'd done it from an old
photograph, the only one he'd ever seen of his real mother. If Uncle Troy knew
he'd stumbled across it, let alone kept hold of it, he'd do more than throw
Seth against the wall.

The portrait flawlessly captured every detail— the dark, flowing mane
that swept well past her shoulders, the long, regal neck, even the haunted,
vaguely sad look in her eye. For some reason, after rendering everything else,
Seth had added something not seen in the photograph. A tear drop. And not just
any teardrop. This one was complete with reflections and highlights, in the
moment of suspension after leaving the corner of her eye, but before cascading
down her cheek. He was particularly proud of the detail.

Looking at the rendering anew, Seth decided it belonged in the
‘permanent collection.' He carefully removed it from its binding, tearing the
page from the top down with great care. He reached under the bed and withdrew a
stack of drawings of all shapes and sizes. These were the ones he'd created in
a frenzy— during which he'd lost all track of time. The images that seemed to
come from somewhere else— somewhere beyond himself. These were the ones he
considered masterpieces. Gingerly he laid the portrait of his mother on the
very top— just above the giant tadpole-dragon and the duplicitous faun.

Book Review:

A clever book about a magical land
and a boy who may or may not be the nameless prince.He has no name because he never had time to
be given one.Now he must save two
worlds.Is he the prince?

This is a darling book and so
detailed.The worlds both come alive
with detail and description.Such a
great book for middle grades and even older.Very magical.

I give this book 4 out of 5 clouds.

This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.

Book II in the
Hidden Senses TrilogyGenre: Paranormal romantic
suspense

Blurb
:

Felicity
has spent her life alone, moving from one place to another hiding a part of her
no one has ever been able to accept, not even her own family.

For as long as she can remember
she’s had dreams that lead her to a person that’s somehow connected with
her. There are no answers or cures only misery for her when she can’t get
anyone to believe her.

When a child reaches out to
her, frightened and in the hands of strangers she forgets the reasons why she
shouldn’t tell anyone and goes to the police. She finds herself sent for
a court ordered psychiatric evaluation.

It’s not the first time, it
won’t be the last. She packs up once again, ready to move as soon as
she’s done with another so called doctor. From the moment she steps into
the office everything changes and she finds nothing she expected.

Can the child be found before
it’s too late or is she facing heartache again?

About the
Author:

Jacqueline
Paige is a world class multi-tasker, being a mother to five adventurous and
unpredictable children, a cafe manager and having a colossal imagination that
allows her to step outside of reality into a world of paranormal romance —with
just a touch of suspense.

Jacqueline
lives in Ontario, Canada and avoids the ever changing weather of the region she
lives in by creating other worlds to fall into in her stories of all things
paranormal. Her first book was published in 2009 and since then has published
ten. She is always writing and currently has more than a dozen stories in one
stage or another of the writing process.

Sitting on the tiny bed, hugging his knees as tightly as
he could against his chest, his eyes darted around the room. It was so dark and
so quiet here--he just wanted to go home and see his mom. Someone would come.
Someone always did in the movies...

A creaking noise made him gasp, he quickly looked
towards the door. Pushing himself back further into the musty corner, he
watched and listened.

When it creaked again, he grabbed the thin blanket and
dropped to lie down on the bed, squeezing his still damp eyes closed tightly.

Felicity blinked a few times and looked down. She was
standing at her kitchen counter, hands grasping the edge so hard her knuckles
were white. Sighing, pushing the straying blonde hairs away from her face her
hand vibrating.

Closing her eyes, she took a calming breath. “I wished you
would show me where sweetheart.” Whispering out loud made her feel better, even
knowing he would never hear her.

Rinsing her hands under the cool water, she patted some
against her sweaty brow. Drying them quickly, she looked around for a moment
trying to recall what she’d been doing before the vision blocked out the rest
of the world.

The kettle began to whistle, startling her. Unplugging it,
she shook her head. It could have been worse, you might have been
cutting vegetables or something else that could result in coming out of it
injured.

If there was one thing she was thankful for it was, that
when it happened her body froze-- and the usually prevented her too many
serious injuries. Of course, it made life more complicated when it came to
things like being in public or driving, both of which she tried to avoid.

Taking the cup of tea, she went over to the desk and pulled
the tattered notebook from the drawer. Wanting to record every detail before
she forgot any of it, she began jotting it down. Taking her time, she wrote
carefully, making sure she described every little thing, even going as far
as the crunching sound the old rusty cot frame made as the little boy moved.

Closing the book, she glanced at the stack of sketches
briefly before she returned the book to the drawer and closed it.

Book Review:

While this is the second book in a
series, it can be read as a stand-alone.I love the development of the relationships between the characters, not
just the romance but also the friendships.Felicity is used to being alone, feeling alone, and handling everything
alone.So when she meets Sandy who introduces
her to Jac, Brent, and Reid, who not only befriend her but accept her, she is
left dealing with unaccustomed emotions.

I have come to know Jacqueline Paige
as an author in the last year and she has quickly become a favorite.This story is no exception.As I have come to expect from Jacqueline,
this book is humorous, well thought out, has a great plot line, fully developed
characters (lead as well as support), and is very engaging.I was immediately drawn into the story and
not let go until the story had resolved.Time ceased to exist as I followed these characters through their
adventure; watched, felt, and worried with them all the way to the resolution.

I give this story 5 out of 5 clouds.

This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.

Friday, August 10, 2012

It has
been thousands of years since the fall of the great nations and the tribes that
remain in the ashes of the fallen must fight to survive in the shadows.In this desperate landscape, Ailive has spent
her entire life fighting for the honor of her tribe and she has grown weary of
war. When Ailive sees a chance to escape her fate, she flees into a chaotic
landscape where death and darkness lurk behind every friendly face until she
finds refuge in the peaceful city at the center of her world.In this city, Ailive finds everything she’s
ever dreamt of, but news of a strange prophet from the South brings whispers of
war to Ailive’s peaceful home.Now
Ailive alone can stop the genocide of an entire tribe of people.Ailive alone holds the key to bringing peace
to the world and destroying the monstrous man whom she once loved, if she can
only gain the courage to pick up her sword again and make herself fulfill the
destiny she’s fought her entire life.

About the
Author:

I am a
therapist and writer who lives in Alabama with my three corgis, children,
husband, and other strange creatures. My short stories have been
published in numerous literary magazines and anthologies including CSM,
Summer Gothic, Bound By Blood, and Outer Darkness. I have ghost story
columns in theValley PlanetandWhite Cat Magazinewhere I share my love
for ghost stories that send shivers down your spine and keep you up at
night. I also share my passion for all things ghostly and haunted
at my blog, ghost stories and haunted places.

I am currently working on my next Haunted America
Book for History Press,Haunted South Alabama. Follow me at my blog to learn about the ghost
stories I am chasing and collecting for this fascinating addition to Haunted
America. I'm also workng on the next book in my Circe series. The
demon is awake and waiting for my new heroine in the swamps of Southern
Alabama. Click
Here to Follow My Blog!You can
contact me at jessica.penot@gmail.com

Excerpt:

I walk the way of the storm. It is all I have ever known. In the haze
of early childhood memories, there exists brief moments before the storm, but
now it has consumed everything. Every piece of me has been lost and all I can
remember is fire and smoke and the remains of old dreams singed by death.Even as I sat high above the city, looking
down on the magnificent beauty of my tribe, the smell of death lingered. Our
tribe’s city was alive, vibrant, and prosperous, but to me it was nothing.

I sat perched on top of the
highest tower of the karash, looking down on what most people in our tribe
would call the real world. I was a Xenderian. I was part of the most powerful
tribe of its time. I was more than part of it; I was the sword that cut the
path to its glory. I was a karake. I was born to fight for the glory of my
people, but as I looked through the icy air, I felt dead inside. My scars were
long and my nightmares haunted my every moment.

Book Review:

The author creates a stark yet
beautiful world that deftly explores the dark and bright sides of human
nature.The sociological implication drawn
from this novel are startling, graphic, appalling, hopeful, and intriguing.

Probably one of the most captivating
and honest books I have read about human nature wrapped in an appealing
story.I give this story a definite 5
out of 5 clouds.

This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.

Nikki Spencer is all grown up, but the world still sees her as the
little girl she used to be. She's ready to prove to her adoring public, and a
certain rough riding rodeo champion, that sweet little Nikki isn't as innocent
as everyone seems to think.

J.T. McCall has a reputation as a rough rider, both on the bull-riding
circuit, and in the bedroom. So what's he to do when an innocent, like country
crooner, Nikki Spencer, sets her sights on him? He plans to do what any good
old country boy would do, save the lady from herself. But who will save J.T.
when this little firecracker sets his world on fire?

As a publicist, Avery Collins knows that mixing business with pleasure
is a recipe for disaster so she has one rule. Her bedroom is off limits to clients,
no matter how enticing and persistent they may be.

Ty McCall is country music’s newest rising star, but he needs the best
team in the business to help him make it to the top. That team includes Avery,
the woman who gave him the most unforgettable night of his life only to
disappear the next morning.

Avery agrees to work with him, but Ty isn’t willing to settle for a
professional relationship with the woman of his dreams. Can this sexy cowboy
convince her that rules were made to be broken?

Marisa
Turner has wanted Luc Spencer forever, but she also wants a baby, and it seems
Luc isn’t up to the challenge. She has to choose between the man she loves and
the family she hopes to have. Fortunately, there’s another man waiting in the
wings who would love to make her baby fantasy a reality.

Luc Spencer
is tired of hearing about marriage and babies. He loves Marisa, but he’s not a
forever kind of guy. After two years together, she tells him it’s over. He’s
not worried; he believes she’ll be back. But what will happen when he finds out
there’s another man waiting to take his place?

Lexi Brooks has overcome adversity to build a successful real estate
business that will enable her live life on her terms. The life she envisions
includes travel, fun, and excitement, not marriage, kids or commitment. But
will Trey’s sexy bodyguard throw a wrench into her plans?

Being a cop taught Josh Cooper to take calculated risks, but he’s tired
of living with the daily threat of danger. He’s ready to settle down with
someone who wants to be a step-mother to his two teenage sons. Too bad Lexi
isn’t that woman.

She’s smart, sexy, and head-strong, and they’re totally in sync in the
bedroom, but she isn’t willing to ‘settle’ for a life of domestic bliss. Or is
she?

ShamelessBook One Nashville Nights SeriesBy Cheryl Douglas

Trey Turner may be topping the country music
charts but his life has been going downhill since his wife left him five
years ago. He’s desperate to make amends for the mistakes he’s made and
convince Sierra their love deserves a second chance.

Sierra Brooks is happy for the first time
since her divorce. She has a career she loves and a fiancé who loves her.

Unfortunately, her fiancé isn’t the only man
professing his love. He may be able to offer her safety and security but will
she decide to risk everything for another chance with the man who broke her heart?

It took me thirty-seven years to decide what
I wanted to be when I grew up. I thought I'd found my calling. In fact, I
worked as a nutritionist for twelve years before I finally admitted to myself
that while I enjoyed my work, I couldn't imagine doing it for the next thirty
years.My sub-conscious knew that I wanted to be a writer
long before the conscious part of my mind decided to get with the program.
While my sub-conscious was hard at work creating character profiles, plots and
storylines, my conscious mind was telling me it was crazy to give up a
successful business on the off-chance one of my manuscripts might rise to the
top of someone's never-ending slush pile. After years of listening to that
negative voice, I was finally ready to stop making excuses, face the fear and
follow my dream of becoming a full-time writer, no matter the outcome. I'm so
thankful I did. I love bringing my characters to life and I
am so grateful to have readers who love those characters as much as I
do. When I take a break from writing it's to spend
time with my husband (a.k.a. my real life hero), my son, and my writing
partner, Tia, a spirited Havanese who enjoys tapping her paw on my keyboard
whenever I need a little comic relief.

The Nashville Nights Series is
seriously hot.These cowboys and girls
are sexy, irritate each other, and then have lots of luvin’… sexy!

In this book, Nikki is the daughter
of country music starmaker Luc Spencer.Luc didn’t raise Nikki but they reconnected when she was a teenager and
became close.After college (his choice
she finish not hers) she starts touring as the opening act for country music
act, Ty McCall.Ty has been her friend
for years, but it’s his brother J.T. that makes her heart go
pitter-patter.They crossed paths when
she was 15, but five years later she is not a little girl and she wants to make
sure he knows it.

J.T. is a champion bull rider, and
he has a bevy of “buckle” babes… or at least that’s what his brother calls
them.J.T. is a love ‘em and leave ‘em
kind of guy.He has never had a relationship
that was more than a night or two.He
likes his relationships kinky and short.But Nikki has his knickers in a twist.All she wants is a hot night… one night.That should be perfect for J.T., but something about Nikki makes him
want to hang up his spurs in one place.Can the ladies’ man become a family man?And is the lady willing to keep him for more than a boy toy?

This book is hot and sexy.Very, very sexy.I give this book… and the series… 4 out of 5
clouds.And a chili pepper rating of 5.There are some

This
product or book may have been distributed for review; this in no way affects my
opinions or reviews.

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